The Terran Crusades
by Unheard Flipper
Summary: In the year 2371, a new crusade has begun and millions have died in the fighting. A new bloody slaughter has begun on the planet of New Louis. Watch as two soldiers of oppesing sides slowly bond, during this bloody time.
1. Prologue

**The Terran Crusades:**_ Prologue_

March 7, 2371

Terran Republican Guard HQ.

Port Jesent, New Louis

1359 hrs.

Field Marshal Senor Senior Sr. wearily nodded his head at the faintly glowing hologram, which dominated his command center's communications room. Technicians, troops and officers glanced at each other nervously, as they digested the unwelcome news.

"I understand Admiral Director. I'm sure you did all you could." The old man sighed sadly. The weight of his years seemed to double with the new added pressure. Behind him, his aid and only son, Captain Senor Senior Jr. shifted his weight from foot to foot as he nervously glanced around the command room.

"We did everything we could to hold them off, but they out numbered us three-to-one." The brown haired, one-eyed, middle aged woman explained. "We lost the dreadnaughts _Ben Nevis_, her sister ship the _Slieve Donard_, the carrier _Volga_, as well as several cruisers and frigatesin the opening salvos. Before we could reorganize the line, PAC transports were already making a beeline for the surface."

The Field Marshal ran his hand through his iron grey hair, just what he needed. Not more then three days ago, he had the PAC on the run back to their last remaining space-port in the city of Haket. There, the crafty Field Marshal had planned to unleash his invasion force of three-million men, upon the cowering heathens and wash the planet of New Louis of their taint.

No one could exactly say why the Protectorate Armed Corps and the Terran Republican Guard were fighting over New Louis. Though the planet was lush and green, the high gravity was almost twice that of Terra's, the high oxygen level caused frequent and explosive lightning storms, (not to mention the abnormally large insects, some as large as a small dog,) its low population (barley over six million) and little resources made this planet virtually worthless, from a resource driven point of view. While its remoteness from Vanguard and the key members of the Outer Colonial Protectorate, made it useless strategically.

What had started as a small engagement between two small fleets, a small invasion force and an even smaller garrison, had turned into a bloody struggle not seen since the Battle of Keelix Prime at the beginning of Terra's Crusade. The battle had become so valuable for propaganda that the Guard Command dispatched its greatest Commanders and its most advanced fleet to capture a planet, that one Admiral described as being "even more worthless then shit scrapped of a boot."

"I'm sorry, Senior. But the 8th fleet must withdraw to friendly space to reorganize and reinforce our numbers." Admiral Director shook her head in wonder, "we underestimated the heathens. Who could have known that they had that many ships tucked away for a rainy day?"

The Field Marshal nodded his head in agreement. "I know what you mean; they have proven to be quite the elusive foe. The 12th Expeditionary Force out numbered them almost four-to-one, yet they have held for such an amount time-"

"I'm sorry Senior, but we'll have to break communications, we're about to enter slip space." The Admiral closed her good eye, "by the Spirit of Man, Senior, I swear, we will return for you."

"I know you will, my dear Admiral, I know you will."

With that the hologram flickered and vanished. With a heavy sigh, the Field Marshal adjusted his dark brown uniform. Turning around, he watched silently as his troops rushed about returning to their duties.

"Captain, inform Colonel Shego, and Lieutenant Possible that I wish to speak with them in the map room immediately."

The Captain, a physically large and muscular man, nodded and snapped a salute, with that Junior tore out of the circular room and into the hall, his heavy combat boots striking the floor with heavy thumps.

_He, who seeks to defends everything, defends nothing._ Senior thought to himself, quoting Sun-Tzu. _I cannot defend all of my gains, I will have to concentrate on the ports, and let the heathens take the rest. But they will pay for it, by the Spirit of Man, and Terra's Ground, they will pay._

* * *

March 7th, 2371

376th PAC Battalion, HQ

20 kilometres of City of Haket, New Louis

1424 hrs.

Captain Steven Barkin, commanding officer Charlie Company could hardly believe the news that came from the Lt. Colonel. After reinforcing New Louis the first time, before the Terran Republics set up their blockade, PAC command had decided that New Louis was indefensible, and lost. Ordering the PAC garrison and their reinforcements to withdraw, they discovered a Terran fleet in orbit of New Louis preventing the evacuation ships, from leaving.

To the common soldier it almost felt like the OCP, had abandoned almost a million men and had left them to their fate. But they had held on, and for close to a year fought what seemed an unending tide of Republic troops. Barkin had watched in dismay as one by one their strongholds fell, as the brave men and women of the PAC fell back to the only space port under their control, at Haket.

At Haket the men had prepared to make their final stand, when the news came through, not more then an hour ago. Fleet Admiral Sheldon "Gemini" Director, led not one, but two fleets against the Terran one holding orbit, and took them completely by surprises. Destroying a dozen ships in the first salvos, it was not long before the Terrans disengaged, and abandoned the planets orbit. Transports arrived and fresh troops, equipment and supplies where flown in.

Barkin could literally feel the moral of the men under his command soar to heights not known since the beginning of this war almost thirty-five years ago. Sitting on top of the hill with several of his most trusted men, he could see why.

Hundreds of troops, dressed in the dark green, full bodied armour of the PAC, moved through New Louis second largest city, while talon shaped, transports continued to arrive with yet more. Large, tri-barreled Trident tanks rolled down ramps and moved out towards their staging areas, while the green clad men followed behind them, clutching their long, bulky STAR Industries Dragoon Assault carbines.

"Ain't it a beautiful sight there sir?" Sergeant Felix Renton spoke up breaking the long silence.

"Sure is, Renton, sure is. All that green and heavy weapons. It's enough, to make old soldiers cry." Barkin replied with a wicked grin. "at least that's what those Terries will be doing when we roll up on their door step, right Mad Dogs!?"

"WROOF, WROOF, AHROOOOO!" Came the proud response of the Charlie Company "Mad Dogs"

They again turned back to watching the unloading of troops, some of them laughing quietly at the new reinforcements, as they struggled against the high gravity. The soldiers from the 376th battalion of the 3rd Frontier Division were use to it by now, having spent the last year fighting, marching, and sleeping in it.

"WHOA! Look over there!" Barkin turned to see what the pointing soldier had spotted. What he saw took his breath away.

Laying on two large beds of treads, was the largest self-propelled rocket launcher produced, the SY4 Mjolnir. The Mjolnir dwarfed the Trident tanks, standing three times as high, and twice as wide. Over four dozen launcher pads, containing four individual seven metre long AE9 "Reaper" rockets, practically ensured total destruction of what ever it fired at.

"Lookie there boys!" Barkin exclaimed pointing at the behemoth, "There's our ticket into Terrie held ground, and our door knocker into Port Jensen."

The men laughed at that, and continued to watch as the vehicle joined an armoured column moving north east.

Barkin's thoughts again turned to the previous year, as he watched the Mjolnir disappear over the ridge. How he and his men survived, he doubt that he would ever know. Some under his command turned to their superstitions, as Barkin called them, for the answers, saying it was God's, or Allah's or some other make believe deity that they survived. Others, like himself, did not believe in any of that nonsense. If they survived it was due to their own skills, instincts and toughness, as well as a healthy dose of luck. Unfortunately, his and his family's lack of any belief had forced themselves to flee into the outer colonies, during what was dubbed "The Awakening" forty years ago.

"The Awakening" was what the Terrahumanists called the bloody period. The heathens, those who didn't bow before it, as the Terrahumanists called them, simply called it the Time of Sorrow. It was during this time that the Terrahumanists conducted their first purification.

In 2329 violence caused by Terrahumanists groups was at an all time high. Churches, Synagogues, Temples and Mosques, were attacked, vandalized, sometimes burned to the ground with practitioners still inside them. In response to these crimes Pope John Paul IV stood before the world and condemned Terrahumanism, calling it a "violent cult, seeking to destroy God, and his children." Those who didn't practice expected a large public out cry from the Terrahumanists.

What they received instead was something most disturbing. A large mob, outraged by the Pope's blasphemous words attacked and sacked the Vatican. In the middle of St. Peter's Square, a large bonfire, created from priceless holy relics burned brightly as the Pope, his secretaries, and several Abbesses and Cardinals were dragged out of the Church, and brought before the fire. The Pope begged the mob to release those they had captured, willing to sacrifice himself for those in his company, but the angry crowd would have none of it. First the nuns, then the secretaries, and the Cardinals were thrown into the fire one by one until finale the Pope was tossed in by those who were once apart of his flock.

The violence however, was only just beginning. Across Earth, now renamed Terra, and the Inner Colonies, thousands were brutally murdered for their belief in the "false deities". Even the atheists were not safe; the mobs ruled that their lack of belief was just as corrupting to Terra and the Spirit of Man as the heathen deities. Those who practiced were turned over to the mobs. Children turned in their parents, brothers and sisters turned in their siblings, lovers and spouses turned over their husbands and wives.

However millions escaped into the far flung colonies of the Outer planets. Barkin remembered as a teenager escaping in the crowded ship, with barley enough food and water to make the difficult journey. The Outer Colonies presented a safe haven for the refugees. The spread of Terrahumanism was almost nonexistent due to the colonials having few ties to Earth. The influx of the refugees caused the Outer planets to band together. With Vanguard leading the way, the Outer Colonial Protectorate was formed.

"Barkin-sama? I have new dispatches for you."

Lieutenant Yori Soruchi's calm voice cut through her captain's dismal thoughts, and snapped him back to reality.

The men, who had been staring off into the city, took sudden interest, as Barkin took hold of the offered data-pad. Slowly the career soldier's dark brown eyes flickered over the info. The nine soldiers watched in fascination as their captain's eyes slowly, and a heavy, sad sigh escaped his mouth. For several seconds all was quite.

"Uhhhh, sir what did the dispatch say?" Renton's voice broke the fragile silence.

Barkin's eyes opened slowly, he stared at Renton for a minute, making the younger man shuffle uncomfortably, in his unflinching gaze.

"The 377th was wiped out in an attack just a few hours ago; as such the battalion is moving out to engage the 377th killers." Gasps greeted Barkin's grim news. He waited a moment to allow the situation to sink in, before continuing. "The few survivors of the attack are being folded into our unit, including an old friend of yours Renton."

The thirty-five year old Sergeant looked confusingly up at his superior. He didn't know anyone in the 377th.

"Who?"

Barkin smiled sadly as he told Renton the name. "Sergeant Major Ronald Stoppable."

* * *

Well I'm sorry to my Brood War fans but I was viscously attacked by the plot bunnies and this was implanted into my brain. So enjoy and leave a review.


	2. Chapter 1

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The Terran Crusades:

_Chapter 1 _

March 7th, 2371

CPD _Medusa_, Bridge

Galapagos Sector, Deep Space

1402 hrs.

Fleet Admiral, Sheldon "Gemini" Director, glared out of the view port of the Colonial Protectorate Dreadnaught _Medusa_, towards the fleeing ships that belonged to his dear sister. The Bridge was a bustle of activity, men in dark blue uniforms rushed about, adjusting the speed of the engines, plotting intercepting courses, and preparing the Mass Acceleration Cannon.

"Admiral, the frigate _Arc_, is reporting shields down on Charlie Seven, permission to engage?"

Gemini glanced at the chart, identifying Charlie Seven, as a light cruiser. The Admiral sneered at the young gun layer; the kilometre long ship was made for taking on bigger prey then a light cruiser.

"Negative Guns, concentrate your fire on Charlie One. Radio, give the go ahead to _Arc_, the kill's all hers." Gemini barked. The crew should have guessed that the Admiral would want to concentrate on Charlie One, the one of four ships that had been identified, and the only ship of the four that wasn't a pile of floating space scrap. The Terran Republican Dreadnaught _Everest_. His dear sister's flag ship.

Like his sister, Gemini had a large black eye patch covering his missing eye, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike Elizabeth "Betty" Director, who was lithe and acrobatic, Gemini was large, and powerful. Both his dark brown hair and goatee were well trimmed, while a peaked cap rested lightly on his head.

Every man aboard knew that Gemini hadn't been assigned to lead because of his tactical skills, or his strategic powers. He was chosen to lead, because he was a ruthless bastard, driven by revenge. Being handed over to the Terrahumanists, along with two of your friends and your father, could turn anybody into a being thirsting for vengeance.

The deck shuddered beneath them, as the _Medusa_'s eight-hundred metre MAC launched a two-tone projectile, at faster then light speed straight at the retreating capital ship.

"Direct hit!" The Gunnery Lieutenant, exclaimed

"Damage?"

"Looks like the kinetic barriers absorbed the impact." Came the disappointed reply, "Adjusting MAC for another shot. Charging… Its away!"

The deck shuddered again, and Gemini could feel a grim, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, while his metallic left hand, clenched and unclenched. There was no way the older _Everest _class ship, could survive more than a few minutes with the new _Mythic _class Dreadnaughts.

"Sir, I think we should pull back. We wont be able to catch them before they make the jump into slip space." A voice brought Gemini out of his pleasant thoughts.

The voice belonged to Captain Drew "Drakken" Lipsky. Though clad head to toe in the dark blue uniform of a navy officer, and a scar beneath his left eye, he was not an impressive man. His medium height, soft build, small, gloved hands, and receding, black hair pulled back into ponytail, and his vided blue skin, a result of his home world of Yulinda's environment, gave him an almost comical appearance. It didn't help that he was emotional, prone to melodrama, childish, and tended to be smugly superior around his subordinates,

But he was not nicknamed after the deadliest predator on Yulinda for nothing. He was ambitious and had a mean streak a light year wide, and was prone to, what some men called, 'evil tendencies.' There was a story going around how Drakken, while on shore leave, gathered up a group of Guard prisoners, and for his entertainment, hanged them, one by one, a sadistic grin never leaving his face, as each man danced, and jigged until finally, dying.

Gemini turned his single, burning eye on his subordinate. One of the things, that you didn't want to do, was make the Fleet Admiral angry. Saying, it was bad for you're your life expediency, was like saying that shit stinks.

"Turn back, Captain? When I'm this close to destroying that traitorous sister of mine? You should know Captain, that I would gladly sacrifice every ship I have just to kill her!" Righteous rage burned feverously in his single eye.

"Admiral, the _Arc_ just confirmed a kill. Charlie Seven's space dust." The radio op. said, interrupting the Admiral's hate filled rant.

"Got even better news, sir." The Gunnery Lieutenant exclaimed, "Charlie One's barriers were knocked out in the last salvo!" The entire bride exploded into cheers. The flag ship of the dreaded 8th Terran fleet was theirs. "Adjusting targets… Charging…"

Gemini turned to Drakken, a triumphant smirk on his face, "You see Captain? I told you, I will get her before she is able to make the jump into slip space."

"Don't be so sure Admiral"

"Sir we got power fluctuations! The ships are preparing to make the jump!" An Ensign shouted. Both of Gemini's fists clenched, he would not allow her to escape. This was his chance for revenge.

"Guns! Don't let them make the jump! Kill that ship!" He bellowed, spit flying from his mouth.

"MAC gun still charging… Almost there… Its away!"

The deck shuddered as the projectile launched. The entire bridge fell into a brittle silence. Finally the Gunnery Lieutenant looked up.

"Charlie Four, moved in front of the shot, sir. It was destroyed, but Charlie One, and the remains of the 8th fleet have made the jump into slip space, Admiral."

The entire Bridge was deathly quite, the only sounds that could be heard were the heavy panting of rage, and the sounds of teeth grinding. _So close, so close, so fucking close. GOD DAMNIT!_ The words screamed through the mind of the Admiral.

His cybotic hand shot out and grabbed Drakken by the neck. His hand tightened around the Captain's windpipe, as Gemini slowly strangled the life out of his subordinate. Drakken fought, kicking, and scratching, trying to get the bigger man to let go.

Suddenly there was a large crack and a thump as the cybotic hand twisted, snapping Drakken's neck, and dropping him to the floor. Without a glance the Admiral turned and swiftly exited the Bridge, leaving a horrified silence in his wake.

* * *

March 7th, 2371

PAC Talon Drop ship, _Little Lady_

10 kilometres outside 376th's HQ

1434 hrs.

The heavy scent of a Cuban cigar, or what was as close to a Cuban, as the OCP could grow, tobacco plants never could seem to adapt to life outside of Earth, wafted through the drop ship, as Sergeant Major Ronald Dean Stoppable, exhaled another breath of the foul smelling, acidic smoke.

Out of the eight hundred men of the 377th Battalion, only forty-six had survived, and made it to the Evac zones. The men were dirty, hungry and exhausted. Mud, dust and dirt covered their heavy, dark green, jump suites, and flak armour, as the sixteen men slumped back in their seats.

It had happened so fast, just so fast. With in the first hour of the attack, most of the officers had been killed in the first barrages, leaving the entire battalion fighting at squad level. An hour latter 2nd Lieutenant Amir Al-Zijad, the remaining ranking officer, was killed when a Timber Wolf tank, fired point blank into his command bunker.

Ron face looked out from the bluish grey haze, of his syntho-cigar, his dark brown eyes scanning the looks of exhaustion and despair that dominated his men's faces. A small rectangular targeting receptacle was angled over his right eye, acting as a mini-HUD. His unshaven features hid the freckles that dotted his cheeks. A dark green helmet covered his messy, dirty blonde hair, and large ears. His rifle rocked in his hand, as the transport bounced and rocked, in the unstable air currents.

"Alright boys, we are five minutes out from the rendezvous point. Be prepared to land, and get the hell of my ship." Came the cranky tone of the Flight Lieutenant

A heavy sigh, escaped from Ron's lips, as he crushed the syntho-cigar, beneath his black combat boots, picked his weapon up and joined his men standing in line at the loading ramp.

The Talon, _Little Lady _had seen better days, scorched patches, ricochet marks, loose armour platting from where a rocket had slammed into the ship. But the reliable ship, and the daring skills of her pilot, even if she was a cranky ass bitch, had saved the sixteen men from death, or worse capture.

Thinking back Ron could not help but be proud of his men, and how the had handled themselves in the worst situation that they had faced yet. Out numbered over four to one, they had held of the advance for almost six hours, depleting their ammo reserves, and using up what medical supplies they had.

"Hey Sarge? What happens now?" Corporal Brick Flagg, the now de-facto second in command.

Like Ron, Flagg came from a high gravity world, giving Flagg a build like a linebacker. Large and muscular, had earned the respect of his comrades when he lifted, two injured men onto his back, and pulled them out of the way of a heavy machine gun, unfortunately the event caused many troops to question the man's intelligence, which, needless to say, was lacking.

"We get processed then either they rebuild the battalion, or they fold us in with a new unit. Most likely the latter." Ron answered quickly, the knowledge of one who had been down this road before, was present in his stature, and voice.

Suddenly the loading ramp was lowered, and the vibrant green ground of New Louis became visible. The sweet smelling, cool air wafted into the stuffy area. Slowly the Talon came to a stop and hovered a metre of the ground.

"Thanks for the ride, there Bon-Bon." Ron smiled, knowing how much the nickname irritated her. The small bit of ribbing was more for his men's spirits then it was for his own. The men chuckled quietly at the nickname, as the leapt to the ground.

"Yeah no problem, you know how much I love putting myself and my bird at risk for your sorry ass there, Lucky." Came the angry reply, "Its going to take a couple of months to get my poor baby back into shape." Bonnie's voice took on that syrupy-sweet tone, one uses for talking to a beloved pet.

Ron jumped down from the boarding ramp, the name "Lucky" ringing in his ears. _I'm not lucky_. The thought passed through his mind, _not even close_. His fingers reached up and traced the thin, ropey scar that traveled from his left temple, over his eye, across his nose and finally ending below his lips. A souvenir from a Guard's bayonet tip, during an engagement thirteen years ago, were an ambush had wiped out his platoon.

Climbing to his feet, Ron glanced around. The landing zone was part of a large battalion's camp. _Camp, got it, now which one is it?_ A flag flapping in the light breeze soon informed him as to the number. The flag was a dark, faded green, a yellow, red trimmed lightning bolt passed across a hammer. _The 376__th__, great._

"Well as I live and breath, I didn't think I would see you alive after we abandoned Geta Port!" A familiar voice called out to him, "Lucky, you son of a bitch, its good to see you again."

Clad in dark green, his rifle slung over his back, was a man who Ron hadn't seen since the fall of Geta, Felix Renton. Felix was a bit taller than Ron; his brown hair was tucked underneath a cloth bandana. The sleeves of his uniform had been rolled up exposing his arms.

His right arm supported a tattoo, a sword pointed down into a rock while a serpent wrapped itself around it. Strength, even in death.

As intimidating as he looked, Ron knew Felix to be a kind and caring man.

"Felix, dude! Still alive and stinking up the place I see!" Ron yelled back, a large smile spreading on his lips, as the two clasped hands and pounded each others fist. "Man I ain't seen you, in what, three, four months now?"

"About that, if memory serves me correctly, I was dragging your ass to the corpsman, because you shot yourself in the foot." Felix grin grew wide as he remembered the incident.

"Ha, ha, ha. Laugh it up Felix, or do I have to remind you of the time I had to stitch you up, because you sat on a bayonet?" Felix winced and his hand instinctively ran up and down on his rear, as though trying to ease a pain.

"That's what I thought."

"So Renton-san, when were you going to inform me that your good friend was Stoppable-san?"

Both soldiers jumped in surprise. So focused on their banter, they failed to notice the slim, shorthaired Lieutenant.

"I'm sorry ma'am; I didn't even know that you knew him."

Lieutenant Yori Soruchi smiled at Felix before turning to Ron. She gave Ron respectable bow, which Ron returned, bending lower to Yori.

"It's good to see you again Stoppable-san. I'm sorry to hear about your unit, but it is good to see that you are alive and well." Yori smiled gently.

"Yori-chan, I see that you got a promotion, since the last time we saw each other." Ron pointed to the gold bar. Last time he had seen her it was silver. "Well done, you deserved it."

Yori smiled as she ran her hand through her short, black hair. Like Felix her uniform's sleeves had been rolled up, but unlike Felix, she had taken off the flak armour's pauldrons, allowing for greater movement. A STAR Industries Deadshot sniper rifle was strapped to her back, while a heavy "Fortune" pistol was resting in her leg hostler. Her slim, and lithe build, and calm demeanor often made Ron think of a viper.

"Thank you Stoppable-san, our Master Sensei was very pleased to hear about it. He said it brought great honour to him and our family."

"Well its good to hear that our Sensei is still alive and is pleased with you. I haven't heard from since I left, eighteen years, isn't?"

Felix looked confusingly at both of them. "Hey Lucky, I didn't know you and the Lieutenant were related, or are you married?"

"We're not Felix. Her family adopted me after Middleton was bombed." Ron's smile had vanished

"Oh."

"Well I got to go report to the Captain, great seeing you guys again, we gotta get drink some time and catch up." Ron waved as he walked away.

Yori and Felix watched him walk away. The two watched their friend walk into the camp in confusion. He had just lost his entire battalion, but was still able to smile and laugh; it was like he didn't take anything seriously. He took what life threw at him, and he cut through it with a smile.

Finally Yori turned to Felix. "Lucky?"

Felix smiled. "A nickname he got tagged with, while we were in boot. He was always complaining that he had no luck. He would stumble and trip over everything, misplace his equipment, get on the Drill Sergeants bad side doing nothing. Then one day, during target practice, he tripped over his shoe lace and accidentally fired his rifle. He hit three targets straight in the bull's-eye at 200 metres." Renton burst out laughing, recalling the incident, "The Drill Sarge took one look at what had happened and said 'Well it seems you do have some luck maggot. Dumb luck.'"

Yori grinned at Felix's laughter, when he calmed down he continued. "Since then he has gotten a lot better, I mean how else could he make Sergeant Major?" Felix's smile and laughter suddenly vanished, "There are those out there that use the name as an insult."

Yori was taken back; she looked at Felix and urged him to clarify.

"As you know Ron lost his family when he was young, but what you might not know, is that Ron has lost several squads, three platoons, three quarters of a company and now his battalion, while serving with them.

"Yet he still smiles that goofball smile of his. I guess that just shows how strong you are if you can keep smiling through all that pain, huh?"

* * *

March 7th 2371

Terran Republican Sec Ops HQ

Port Jensen, New Louis

1412hrs.

Special Forces Lieutenant Kim Possible shifted her weight to he left foot, as she prepared to defender herself, as her opponent prepared to attack her. Kim grinned to herself, as she slowly moved in a semi-circle, her emerald eyes' never leaving the green tinted woman who kept in step with her.

Kim flipped her long auburn hair, from her eyesight. "Come on, Shego! I would like to finish this sometime before I'm forty."

The taunt worked, as the raven haired, greenskined Colonel suddenly lunged, her fist striking across with a left handed hook. "Don't worry Princess, I'll bet this is over within five minutes after I kick your pasty, scrawny ass."

Kim blocked the hook, capturing her arm; she tossed Shego across the padded mat with a hip toss. Leaping up she brought her foot down; Shego saw this and quickly rolled before leaping up in a spinning back kick, catching Kim off guard.

Kim leapt back, as her commanding officer pressed her advantage. An adrenaline infused grin split Shego's as she closed the distance, throwing kicks and punches, with a rabid fury. Kim found herself hard pressed to keep herself on balance, if she fell…

A couple more blows, came in the form of several lightning fast jabs, Shego's taunts never ceasing as she tried to throw Kim off. "Come on Kimmie, even the heathens move better than you." A round house kick, punctuated the statement.

Ducking under the attack, Kim growled in anger. That she compared her to those deniers of Terra was inexcusable. Quickly dropping down, Kim kicked out in a leg sweep, catching Shego off balance and throwing her to the ground.

Shego leapt up, only to see Kim's foot completing a round house kick of her own, Shego only had enough time to close her eyes in anticipation before the kick connected with her face.

Once again, Shego found herself tasting mat, as she was went to floor from the hit. Climbing to her feet, she had barely enough time to dodge a punch combo thrown at her by the enraged Lieutenant.

"What's the matter Shego? Getting tired? Having trouble keeping up?" A raised knee strike knocked the wind out of Shego's lungs. Seeing this Kim grabbed her opponent by her, beautiful raven hair and brought her face towards her knee.

Shego saw the incoming knee strike, and new that there was nothing she could do. The knee stopped right before breaking her nose. "You lose, Colonel." Kim panted, her voice filled with triumph. "You know what that means."

Sighing in disappointment, Shego nodded. "Yes, yes. I'll return your Pandroo."

Kim grinned. "What else?"

"I also promise not to tell the men that their Lieutenant cannot fall asleep with out her Cuddlebuddie."

"Aaaaannnnnddddddd?"

Shego muttered something under her breath.

Kim cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, what was that."

Again Shego muttered something, a little louder this time.

Kim's grin never left her face. "Come on Colonel, a bet is a bet. Your setting a poor example for your men. How can we expect them to be honest, and fair, when we can't even trust the commanding officer?"

"Fine!" Shego snapped, "I will tell the men that I am a cuddler, and cannot sleep with out my Batbear!"

"Spakin'"

"I am sorry, I hope I am not interrupting you ladies' work out." Came a voice from the door way. Both officers turned to see Captain Junior's large frame blocking the door to the sparring room.

"What do you want Junior?"

"Ah, Kim Possible your beauty seems to double every time I see you. Please will you come to dinner and dancing with me sometime?"

Kim quickly closed the distance and grabbed Junior by the back of the neck, using his size to her advantage; she tossed him over her back and onto the floor, while Shego watched in amusement.

"How many time Junior, must I tell you no!" Kim growled at the prone man. He tried to speak up but Kim quickly cut him off. "You are not my type Junior, just except that fact."

Shego grinned at Kim's natural aggressiveness; it was what she needed in the Special Forces. Soldiers, who were quick, aggressive, determined, and able to look at the impossible and say "I can do that."

"Was there anything else Captain?" Shego asked, looking down at the Captain.

Junior nodded his head as he climbed to his feet and brushed himself off. "Father wishes to speak to both of you. There is a new problem that needs to be taken care of."

"And that is?"

Junior was about to reply when an older, stronger, yet calmer voice cut him off. "The 8th fleet has retreated, and the PAC are beginning to land reinforcements. We have been cut off from our supplies, and the enemy is already moving toward Geta." Field Marshal Senior said as he stood in the door.

"I need the Special Forces to keep them busy and slow them down as much as possible. We need to hold until Admiral Director arrives with reinforcements, so we can wipe this planet clean of the heretic taint."

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Wow two chapters in three days! I'm on fire! Don't be expecting that again. As always please if you read, leave a review, even if you hate it.

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	3. Chapter 2

**Authors Note:** This has no relation to my Brood War universe, nor is it a crossover, although it does contain elements from Halo, Mass Effect, and Dawn of War. I know some of you were mixed up I should have clarified, sorry my bad.

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The Terran Crusades:

_Chapter 2_

March 7th 2371

Terran Republic Spec Ops HQ

Port Jensen, New Louis

1500 hrs.

The Terran Special Forces briefing room was a large, grey, and well lit, usually adorned with maps of new offences, letters, and pictures from family members, and captured battle trophies, ranging from banners of PAC battalions, and regiments, to maps taken from their abandoned HQs. But today the room was unrecognizable to the light green and black uniformed officers.

The letter's and pictures had been taken down, in their place were now lists of identified PAC divisions, regiments, and battalions, the maps of planned offences and advances, had been replaced with defenses, and in some cases, withdrawals. Where the battle trophies had once hung, there was now one gigantic banner of the Terran Republic, a dark red Earth, on a black background.

Rumors had been flying around among the officers; no one was completely sure what was happening. In the midst of the confusion was Lieutenant Kimberly Anne Possible of the 29th Special Forces division. Kim stood out from the regular officers, while they wore uniforms of light green and black, beneath heavy flack armour, Kim was clad in black combat boots, and pants, a purple t-shirt was just visible underneath a light flack vest, a maroon military beret rested on her long auburn hair, which flowed freely down her back.

Kim ignored the sideways glances that were thrown at her; she was more than used to them, being one of the six Special Recon Units on New Louis. The elite corps in the Special Forces; often called Reapers by the other soldiers, for their special talents in dealing death, and for their legendary ruthlessness. The training of the Reapers, was so malicious and difficult, it was not unheard of for seven out of ten trainees to die during the year long process. A Reaper unofficially outranked any normal soldier on the field, and was required to be saluted by anybody underneath the rank of Colonel.

But Kim was an exception to the shadow cast by her fellow Reapers. Graduating from the Academy on the hellish planet, Sirus 2, at the top of her class, her instructors were amazed and disappointed, that her empathy for others hadn't been completely broken. It seemed the harder she was pushed to let go, and embrace the emptiness, the ruthlessness, the more she clung to the Third Ideal of Terrahumanism: "That man who embraced the spirit and earth, were one, and the one are your brothers and your sisters to embrace and protect from those who have rejected Man's Spirit for false Gods." Kim would protect her men, no matter what the cost.

"Attention! Officer on Deck!"

The room immediately went quite, save for the sound of men snapping to attention and saluting, as Colonel Susan "Shego" Gomez marched into the crowded room, and up to the podium. Like Kim the Colonel was lithe and athletic, but that was where the similarities stopped. Her long black hair and pale, green-skin were striking in the well lit room. Though Shego was a Reaper, she preferred the black and green uniform of the Special Forces, which matched her perfectly. Her plasma powered gauntlets, were tucked away on her gun belt, which moved seductively with her hips as she walked.

"At ease." She responded to the salutes.

Shego stared out into the large gathering, her emerald eyes, shifting constantly; glancing at each face, reading what was there. The room waited in silence for a few seconds before the Colonel took a deep breath, and addressed the crowd.

"There have been many rumors flying around in the past hour. 'The PAC has been reinforced,' 'the PAC have withdrawn,' 'the PAC are advancing,' 'Geta has fallen into PAC hands,' 'Geta still holds,' 'the 8th fleet has been broken,' 'the 8th fleet is still holding position.' I've known you boys and girls to long to not be honest with you, so I'll cut the crap and get right to the point.

"At approximately 1320 hours, two PAC fleets, came out of slip space and immediately engaged the 8th fleet, as it held position around New Louis. Admiral Director was taken completely by surprises, in the opening salvo over a dozen ships, three of them capital-ships, were destroyed." Gasps could be heard as the group looked worriedly around at each other. Even Kim, who had heard the news before still found it somewhat surprising that the seemingly invincible 8th fleet could be defeated like that.

"Shut up, and let me finish!" Shego snapped, instantly quieting the whispers. Kim smirked, for the twelve years she had known her friend, and superior, two things had never changed, Shego's temper, and her short patience.

"At approximately 1400 hours, PAC reinforcements landed at Haket, while the 8th fleet barley managed to make it into slip space intact. As of now the enemy fleets have taken up orbit, while landing massive amounts of troops, and equipment.

"There is no longer a question of defeating them; there is no question of them advancing. We are on our own here; the only thing we can do is slow them down. Even now Director is trying to gather ships and relief to come to our aid, we must buy them time."

Silence. The room went deathly quite. Terran Republic Guards rarely saw defeat looking at them, yet here it was.

"So what do we do ma'am?" A Captain finally spoke up, shattering the brittle silence.

"Do? I just told you." Shego answered, "We hold them off for as long as we can. We turn Geta, Foret, and Jensen into killing grounds! Every step they take, we'll make them pay for it!"

The room exploded with cheers, questions, and assurances, as Shego took a step back, watching the commotion with a satisfied smirk on her face. She allowed the noise to go on for a few moments.

"Alright now shut up and listen. We don't have a lot of time, Field Marshal Senior, has already sent reinforcements into Geta, and Foret, and has withdrawn the front divisions, back two-hundred kilometres. The 29th TSF division is to be split up, and reinforce the garrisons at Geta, and Foret. The Reapers will be divided and sent into the cities as well. Any questions? No? Good! Dismissed."

The loud scraping of chairs echoed throughout the room as officers leapt up, and filed out of the room. In seconds the room had been cleared, Kim and Shego were the sole remaining occupants.

"Good speech, don't you think, Princess?" Shego congratulated herself, the satisfied smirk never leaving her lips.

"I don't know, I think you kinda over did the whole 'we turn Geta, Foret, and Jensen into killing grounds' bit to be completely honest with you. You also forgot one, little detail."

Shego looked confused for a moment, until she caught Kim's mischievous grin. "I don't think now is the best time to pay off the bet, we're in the middle of a crises here!"

Kim's grin never left her face. "So it would have been good for moral, knowing that their big, badass Colonel can't sleep without her wittle Cuddlebuddie."

Shego slowly shook her head in bemusement at her friend. "How I've managed to put up with you these past twelve years without killing you, I'll never know."

"It must be my natural charm."

Shego's grin turned evil as she glanced sideways, at her subordinate. Kim caught the look, and knew, from past experiences, that when Shego got that grin something very unpleasant was in store for her.

Though all her instincts, screamed at her to walk away, and keep her mouth shut, she had to ask anyway. "What?"

The evil grin grew wider. "Oh nothing, I was just thinking of the perfect partner for you when you're dispatched to Geta. You always seem to work well with him."

Kim's mind flashed with the implications, and possibilities until it settled on one man. "Oh shit, please not him!"

"That's right; you're going to Geta, under the command of a fellow Reaper, Captain Will Du."

* * *

August 12th 2348

Hill 238

412 kilometres of Port Inra, Toret Prime

0324 hrs.

_Toret Prime reminded the twenty-two year old Senior Sergeant so much of Middleton it hurt. The rocky barren ground, the high gravity, the large mining machines that dotted the horizon, silhouetted by the burning light of erupting lava, and the numerous caves that covered the landscape, gave Ron such nostalgia, that he wouldn't be surprised if he ran into his father coming down the hill towards him. Like the old days._

_But he knew his father wouldn't. His dad had been dead for eight years now. Dead like the barren landscape that he found himself marching over. _

_The PAC was making a push, a good push at that, in an effort to drive the invading Republic Guards from Toret Prime effectively securing the OCP's right flank, and trapping the large 4__th__ fleet in the sector._

_Though it was Ron's fourth year in the PAC, this was his first time participating in a large campaign. He was excited, before this he had taken part only in small raids, and patrols. Now he was part of an advance, an advance with, thousands of men, the brand new Trident tanks, and the sound of heavy artillery in the background. What was more was that he could finally taste vengeance._

_Sweet vengeance against the men who had taken everything from him, his home, his family, his friends, yes vengeance would be his. That is if he could stay alive long enough to taste it._

_He remembered his first day at boot, when the burly Drill Sergeant pinned the thin, lanky, eighteen year old to the wall and shouted at him. Demanding to know what he was here for, what he wanted to fight for. As calmly as he could Ron muttered 'revenge.' The Drill Sergeant stepped back with a sickly, knowing, evil smile, and said 'I hope you get it, maggot.'_

_Ron was brought out of his thoughts by the Lieutenant's frantic whisper of "3__rd__ platoon on me!" _

_Lieutenant Douglas Brock was admired by his men. Large and physically strong, Brock had an air of invincibility and unshakable self-confidence, and his easy manner just made him a likeable guy. Brock had been apart of the war effort since it began in 2332. He had seen more action then most officers in the PAC. _

_The forty man platoon converged at the bottom of the large rocky hill. Again Brock spoke in barley more then a whisper. _

"_Got word from command. Intel suggests that an enemy, patrol, has set up camp at the top. We're to remove it and secure the right flank of our armoured column. Lucky, you got point."_

_Ron nodded as he climbed the hill in front of the platoon, keeping low and out of sight, as they slowly moved up. His bulky weapon clutched at the ready should anything move in front of him._

_Twenty minutes later, he came to the apex of the hill, and had to choke down a gasp of surprise. Turning around he quickly waved the rest of the platoon up, and shifted his glance back to the sight before him. _

_Two full platoons lay around the camp asleep, their single sentry, was busy poking at the embers of the cooking fire, as he prepared a mid-shift snack._

"_You can always tell the FNGs, by how they make camp." Brock whispered to Ron. Ron nodded in agreement, as he numbered off the mistakes that the platoons had made. Their sentry was not on alert, they were sleep __**IN**__ their bags, instead of under them, their weapons were out of reach, and probably most importantly their Radio op, was out like a light. _

"_Stoppable, take care of that sentry, but do it quietly. The rest of you prepare to engage, no firearms use your knives."_

_Ron slowly pulled his long knife from his boot, and started creeping up to the cooking sentry, slowly, ever so slowly. His booted feet making almost no sound against the bare rock. He slowly raised his knife, and slowed his breathing. When he was right behind him, his left hand shot out and covered the cooking man's mouth. The small muffled sound of surprise was quickly ended by a quick slash of the knife, across his throat._

_Gently lowering the dead man to the ground, Ron signaled to the rest of the platoon that all was clear. The platoon crept slowly into the camp, and went about their grim business. Ron turned around to move to his next victim, when he saw the face of the man, no, boy he just killed. The sentry couldn't have been older then seventeen, his blue, eyes had glazed over, but the surprise was still evident. _

_It froze him, Ron couldn't move, all he could do was stare into the face of the life he cruelly ended. He had wanted vengeance. He had wanted to shed their blood. But now? Now he knew the sickly, evil, knowing grin of the Drill Sergeant. _

"_What's the matter Lucky? Never seen a corpse before?" Brock asked him, no longer even pretending to be quite. Brock waited for an answer. When none came, glanced down at the prone body lying at Ron's feet. _

"_I killed him, I wanted to kill him and I did. It felt so good, like justice was finally being done, with my own hands."_

_Brock stared at Ron's back for a moment, before asking bluntly. "This was the first time you killed up close and personal, isn't?" _

_Ron's head bobbed up and down, as he nodded. He continued to stare down into the face of the man he had killed._

_Brock sighed, as he placed a gloved hand on Ron's shoulder. "Let me give you some advice Stoppable. Killing for vengeance, doesn't help. If anything it turns you, it corrupts you, until your something else. A monster. It will eat away at you, until you are nothing more then an empty shell."_

"_Then what, should I just leave! Not fight for anything!"_

_Brock shook his head. "No. Find something to believe in, and fight for that, kill for that, create a cause that inspires you, that will allow you to keep who you are." _

_Brock's hand reached down his shirt as he talked, slowly pulling up a fine gold chain. "This is my belief, this is my inspiration."_

_A large heavy gold locket, the front had an etching of a crucifix. Opening it Ron saw the picture of two small kids, laughing and making faces at the camera. "A belief in allowing my children to grow up, believing in what they want, and not have to fear a purification."_

_With that, Brock replaced the locket, and walked away, leaving his subordinate to his thoughts. Ron watched him walk away, as he slowly dug his own hand into his vest. With great care he pulled out the only reaming memory of his parents. A sliver Star of David, given to him on his fourteenth birthday, glittered in the flames of the cooking fire. _

_He had given that stuff up after the attack on Middleton, turning his back on his parents faith, saying where was God when he needed Him. Now watching the silver star spin in the firelight, maybe it was time to embrace his faith again. Tucking the pendant away, Ron did something he had not done in eight years. He prayed, the Hebrew, sounding unfamiliar to his ears, as he bowed his head and prayed for forgiveness._

_Four days later Ron's platoon entered a swamp, where they were ambushed. After six hours of bloody fighting, the area was cleared, and Ron emerged, covered in mud, and sweat. Blood dripped from a fresh slash across his face. In his hand he carried the thirty-nine dog tags of his platoon, and the golden locket of Lieutenant Douglas Brock. That night, Ron did something that he had not done since he was a little boy; he entered the battalion's synagogue and prayed with the elderly Rabbi._

* * *

March 8th, 2371

376th PAC Battalion HQ

20 kilometres of City of Haket, New Louis

0537 hrs.

Ron stirred from sleep, as the dream continued to flash in front of him, as he blinked the last bit of sleep from his eyes. Groggily, he shoved his sleeping roll off of himself. Stretching he picked up his rifle and made his way towards the mess for the morning meal.

"Yo! Ron-man, wait up!"

Ron turned to see the jogging form of Felix approaching him, two steaming cups in his hands. Catching up to Ron, he offered one of the cups, which Ron accepted gladly.

"Couldn't sleep huh, Ron? Usually it takes revelry to get you up." Felix took a sip of the syntho-coffee. "The dreams again?"

"Yeah, their are pain in the ass, cutting into my sleeping time." Ron complained, taking a deep drink. His face pulled into a grimace, as he spat the foul tasting liquid onto the ground.

"Well I guess there is one consistency in this galaxy, and that is no matter where we are, your coffee always taste like shit, Felix."

"Hey don't blame me. Its this damn syntho-coffee, I'm not God, I can't work miracles."

Ron shook his head in disappointment and anger, as he pulled out a syntho-cigar. "Damn Guards, get all the good stuff, real tobacco, real coffee, real chocolate…"

Felix smiled in sympathy as Ron continued his rant. Taking small sips of his coffee, waiting patiently for Ron to reach his climax, and his conclusion.

"Sergeants!" Ron stopped in mid rant, and Felix hastily swallowed what remained of his coffee, and saluted their captain, as he approached the two men.

Barkin was a physically large and well built man in his late fifties. His iron grey, crew cut hair, dark green jump suite, heavy, full body flack armour made him incredibly intimidating. A fact that he was well aware of, and enjoyed. Barkin's dark brown eyes stared down at them, as though judging them, and weighing their value. Both Ron and Felix did their best not to wilt under the piercing, dark gaze.

Finally, and much to the relief of his two men, Barkin smiled. "Command just handed us new orders boys! The division has been given the go-ahead to take Geta back from the Terries. Our battalion has been given the industrial, and market centers as our ultimate objectives."

Both Ron and Felix smiled excitedly, for too long they had been on the retreat. For too long they had watched as one by one their cities fell. Now they would advance. They would drive the enemy from New Louis, and finally ended this bloody battle.

Barkin smiled at their eager faces. "So get some food in your gut and your shit together, we're moving out at 0700 hrs."

* * *

A Booyah. Another chapter done. Now before you start flaming me for all the religious themes and references, I'm not trying to be a bible thumper. This story is more about accepting someone else beliefs, and not attacking them. So to you Brood War fans, I'll try and get the next chapter out by next week. As always leave me a review, if you favourite it, write a review, if you alert it leave a review, if you hate it leave a review, if you love it leave a review.


	4. Chapter 3

**The Terran Crusades: **_Chapter 3_

March 8th 2371

7th PAC Frontier Army HQ

New Haket, New Louis

0615 hrs.

Colonel General Dallas Reagh, the Senior Commander of what was the 7th Frontier Army, paced behind his paper ridden desk. The large and spacious office had served as his command post for the past year. Many sleepless nights had passed, as the commander had devoted all his energy, and all his ability in keeping the army alive for another month, another week, hell; he had taken a desperate gamble to keep the army from breaking, just for another day.

The time for him to step down had arrived. The slightly overweight, forty-two year old, had done admirably, given his situation. Out numbered four-to-one in infantry, five-to-two in armour, and two-to-one in artillery, that he had held out for over a year had earned him incredible respect back home, and a legendary reputation.

Be that as it may, he knew he had many difficulties commanding the half-million man army. Now with ten times that number on the ground and more arriving everyday. Yes the time for him to give up his command had come, and he was proud. Proud to have served with honour and dignity, proud to have led the army through its darkest days, proud that he had been given the impossible and survived it. But most of all he was proud of the men who had followed him.

The large wood door opened and four, dark green suited, men marched into the well lit office. Reagh instantly stopped pacing and saluted his warm, blue eyes wide, in surprise at who the Prime Minister and Supreme Command had sent. Dressed in a dark green command uniform, was Reagh's mentor and close friend, Marshal Montgomery Fiske.

"At ease, Dallas." Fiske's voice was smooth, cultured, cold. His accent signaling his home of New Britannia. "We've known each other for too long for formalities, old friend."

Reagh nodded and quickly dropped his hand to grasp the one that Fiske had offered. A small smile came to the weather-beaten face of Fiske, as the two old friends exchanged pleasantries.

"I see you managed to add some more to your collection there, Monty." Reagh smiled, pointing to the dozen and a half, gleaming medals on Fiske's chest.

"Well you know what Napoleon said, 'Men will fight long and hard for a piece of coloured ribbon.' I guess I'm proving them right." Both men smiled lightly at joke.

"Speaking of which, I have something for you. Captain Bates, the medal." The small man behind Fiske handed him a velvet box, "in recognition for your dedicated service and defense of New Louis against undeniable odds; I present you with the Protectorate Armed Corps highest honour: The Star and Wreath. Wear it with pride my friend."

Fiske pinned the gold star, surrounded by a fine gold wreath on to Reagh's left breast. Taking a step back the Fiske and the three men who had followed him in, saluted.

Without showing any emotion, Reagh saluted the older man in return. "Thank you, sir. But the real praise belongs with the men."

"I know."

"Well I should bring you gentlemen up to speed on the situation here Monty."

For the next two and a half hours, the Colonel General briefed the four newcomers on his past tactics, how the enemy had behaved, while on the attack, and while on the defense, of the moral, and state of his troops, and finally on his current offensive to retake Geta, from the Guard.

Fiske listened dispassionately, his cold, almost soulless black eyes, never betraying a hint of emotion. Now and then he would ask questions on the abilities of the soldiers and the enemy, giving his approval, or disproval to proposed plans and actions, based on the information given to him by his friend, which he knew to be accurate.

"Very well, Dallas. As I said before you've done well."

"Thank you Monty. The COM links are open if you wish to talk to the men." Reagh held out a small head-mike towards him. .

"I will." Fiske closed his eyes for a moment as he fitted it on to his head. Fiske allowed the memories of past battles and campaigns to wash over him. The sounds of distant artillery, the crackle of small arms fire, the screams of atmospheric fighters as they passed over head.

Fiske took a deep calming breath. "Soldiers of the 7th Frontier Army. This is Marshal Montgomery Fiske. Since man discovered the killing power of bone and flint, to the forging of bronze and steel, to the explosive power of gunpowder we have killed each other, we have slaughtered each other. We have never known a true and lasting peace. For we as humans know only war.

"We have warred for country. We have warred for territory. We have warred for honour. We have warred for freedom and liberty. The Protectorate was formed to defend our freedoms, to defend our liberty, to defend our beliefs. But how can we defend, when we are always on the defensive? How can we keep them from advancing when we only withdrawal?

"We cannot. No more shall we take the defensive, no more shall we retreat, no more shall we allow the Guard to purify our homes and our worlds. For now on we ADVANCE! We take the fight to them. We take the fight to their homes, to their worlds!"

Fiske paused a moment to allow dramatic effect.

"Their fleet has been broken. Their backs are against the wall. They will not hold us back. They cannot hope to withstand our rage! Our fury! I call on you this day to kill them! Not because it is your duty to the Protectorate. Not because it is your duty to the PAC. But it is your duty to your mothers, to your fathers, to your sisters, to your brothers, to your children, to your wives, to your husbands.

"They demand that you kill the Terrahumanists! They demand that you count not the days, nor the kilometres, nor years! They demand that you only count the number you have killed! Then we will have peace. A true and lasting peace, one that our children and their children will see! A peace whose seeds will be sown here! At New Louis!"

Fiske breathed deep and heavily before shouting the battle cry of the PAC. The name of the first purified planet to be liberated. One that haunted the dreams of every soldier who had been there.

"ITORA!"

* * *

March 8th 2371

234th Armoured Battalion HQ

90 kilometres outside Geta

0835 hrs.

Captain Edward 'Motor Ed' Lipsky was a man who enjoyed the simple things in life. Things like his against regulation blond mullet, things like heavy metal, and hard rock, and gorgeously hot babes. But when it came to vehicles Motor Ed, had three demands: One, it had to have armour platting, (babes totally dig the armour platting. Seriously they do.) Two, it had to have a massive amount of fire power, (hey, you can't turn the world into your own personal scrap yard with out it.) Finally it had to be fast, (feel the wind through the lion's mane, dude. YEEEEHAAAAAAA!)

Well, two out of three, wasn't bad. The sixty-six ton tank, had the armour platting, 18cm of heavy duty reinforced alidum infused titanium. It had the fire power, three 90mm accelerator cannons, which would rotate after firing, allowing the cannon's accelerator engine to cool after being fired. The Trident also came equipped with a duel anti-personal accelerated machine gun. The problem was in speed. Because of the high gravity the Trident couldn't afford to go faster then thirty kilometres an hour, or else the engine would over heat do to the intense strain, and the Trident would break down.

Motor Ed stared lovingly at the large green, tri-barreled Trident tank, and listened to the hiss of spray cans, as his gunner and driver, spray-painted two large black wolf heads on to the side of the large machine.

"Six kills in two days dudes, we are seriously kicking major ass. Seriously." Motor Ed grinned wickedly as he used one of the barrels to swing up on to the turret. "We keep this up and we'll use up the paint supply. Seriously."

His two crew members, watched with some amusement, as their commander flailed his arms in an air guitar, having served with him for over two years, they were used to his eccentrics.

Motor Ed swung down from the large tank, he had lovingly christened _Babe III_, (the other two were now burned out husks, scattered on two other planets.) Standing back with his men, he admired their handiwork. Four large wolf heads with several smaller ones where painted in neat rows, on the tread guard, just beneath the scrawling white letters of the Trident's name. Forty-Seven kills. It was a testament, that although Motor Ed and his crew were… odd… in their machine, they were deadly.

The speakers in side the camp suddenly came to life, as a cold, accented voice, that sent shivers down their spines, interrupted their pleasant thoughts, and idle chatter. "Soldiers of the 7th Frontier Army. This is Marshal Montgomery Fiske…"

"Who the hell is that?"

Motor Ed slapped his gunner in the back of his head, his large, calloused hand making a satisfying _Thwack_, when it came in contact with the gunner's helmet.

"Dude, shut up, seriously. The boss mans talking, seriously."

The driver looked confused for a moment. "I thought the boss man was Colonel General Reagh? Why isn't he in charge? They have no right to replace him after everything he led us through."

Motor Ed, being the fair officer and leader that he was, dished out another quieting back-of-head slap, this time to the driver.

"Dude, seriously, you're cramping his style. Seriously. That Fiske dude was the one who led the Itora expedition. Seriously, he was."

Ed's mind flashed back to that day, and the sights he had seen, the things he had done. He remembered it all. The hallow emptiness of the survivors, the gleefully cheerful smiles of the Purifiers, as they went about their grisly business, of purifying a planets population. But most of all what they had done. Done to those who were broken, done to those who were mindless, done to those merciless animals. He hide it of course, buried deep beneath a carefree and, what others would call, an obnoxious, attitude.

The two crew members lapsed back into silence, their respect for the usurping Marshal growing instantly larger. They had heard the grisly tales, secondhand, or straight from someone who had severed there. But to be commanded by the same man who had led the campaign?

As the man's speech continued, it increased in tempo, and volume, the men found themselves cheering, and clapping with approval of the Marshal's speech. When the Marshal had finished his speech with the cry of Itora, the eight hundred man battalion shouted back as one.

"ITOOORRRRAAAA!"

Slowly the sound of cheering was drowned out by the sounds of Talon drop ships, as they quickly approached the rally point. Again the cheering broke out. The time for the attack had arrived.

"About time they showed up, seriously. I was startin' to get impatient. Seriously."

The three men watched as the large transports offloaded troops from the 376th PAC Battalion. Men who had once walked with something akin to exhaustion, and desperation, now they stood straight and tall, as if some heavy burden had been relieved from their shoulders, and new life had been breathed into them.

"You Captain Lipsky?" A deep, baritone voice, that brokered no non-sense, asked.

Ed's two crew members cringed, one of the top things that their commander hated, was being called 'Captain,' 'Captain Lipsky,' or 'sir'. He preferred the terms, 'boss' or 'boss-man,' or simply 'Motor Ed.'

Motor Ed's head whipped about so fast that the stay ends of his blond mullet struck his gunner across the face. He glared at the offender, taking an instant disliking to the large, green helmeted, brown eyed captain.

"Dude, seriously, the name's Motor Ed! Not Captain, not Captain Lipsky, Motor Ed. Seriously dude, you're totally dragging me down. Seriously."

For his own part, Captain Steven Barkin, did not think much of his fellow officer. Were Barkin was dressed in full battle uniform, of dark green, his crew-cut brown hair, hidden beneath his tactical helmet. Captain 'Motor Ed' was the complete opposite. His hair screamed against regulations, while his standard issue, jumpsuit had its sleeves removed, showing of his muscled arms, and tattoo. Were Barkin was clean shaven; Ed's lip proudly displayed a handle-bar mustache.

"I really don't care what you call yourself. We got an appointment with the Terries, at Geta." Barkin's smile and tone, became dangerous, as he checked the sightings on his rifle. "And I'm not going to miss it for the world."

"So you're the ones who'll be guardin' our asses, for the assault?"

The nod from Barkin was all he needed. "YEEEEEEEHHHHHHHAAAAAAA!" Ed's arms flailed as strummed his air guitar. "Well what are we waitin' for? I hear the Terries are neglecting hot lead in their diet! Let's mount up!"

Ed turned to climb into his tank, when he noticed, a soldier, already resting comfortably on the turret, reaching a large handout to pull another man up. Another one things Ed did not like, were people touching his baby, before him.

"Hey dude, seriously that's not cool, touching another man's ride? Seriously, didn't your mother teach you anything?"

Ron looked up in surprise. Quickly dismounting, he threw a sloppy salute, as the larger man pushed past, glaring at him. Felix looked at his friend and shrugged.

"Don't ask me, Ron-man. I guess the man's a little touchy about his, tank."

Ron nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well if I had a bon-diggity tank like that, I too would be a little protective of it." He ran his hand over his rust coloured stubble, "still, I think I'm going to ride on that other Trident, you know."

Renton nodded in agreement. Climbing onto the turret, the two friends sat back and relaxed, as the armoured column began its journey towards the port of Geta.

* * *

March 8th 2371

Port Geta Perimeter Defense

Port Geta New Louis

1451 hrs.

Lieutenant Kim Possible was tweaked. In fact she was very tweaked. Will Du, in his arrogance, had only given the Industrial Sector's defending forces piecemeal reinforcements, and those were not equipped with any sort of anti-armour, or heavy weaponry.

_Geta hadn't changed since the Guard wrest control of Geta from the PAC. Piles of rubble, tank barriers, and barbed wire blocked off streets. SAM sites now dotted the roof tops of the buildings. Ammo dumps had been created in key buildings, along with medical stations, and supply dumps. The only difference now was that Kim wasn't here to __**drive **__the PAC out; she was here to __**keep**__ them out. And that made all the difference._

_Kim leapt from the Heron transport, landing lightly on her feet and into a city of confusion. Sergeants led squads of troopers to their placements on the defensive lines, large, black and grey, Timber Wolf tanks moved down the large highways. _

_A corporal rushed up to her throwing a hasty. His brown jumpsuit, heavy flack armour, and helmet clashed with the dull grey, and sterile white of the city. "Ma'am, Captain Du wishes for you to report to him immediately."_

_Kim quickly returned the salute. "Of course corporal, where is he?"_

_The young man nodded. "Of course this way."_

_Following the soldier through the small city, she caught the looks of the soldiers. They were afraid. The shoulders slumped, and they slouched heavily as though they were carrying a heavy burden. She was not used to seeing the Guardsmen like this. She didn't like it, not one bit._

_Kim snorted when she saw the building Du had chosen for a HQ. The large and prestigious Two Crowns Hotel. _Just like him to choose the best for himself_, Kim thought bitterly. _

_Captain Will Du was already waiting for her in the foyer. Surrounded by officers, he scrutinized her intently as she approached the map table. He allowed no emotion to touch his face, or enter is eyes. _

"_So kind of you to join us Lieutenant Possible. We were just finalizing the defense plans of the city."_

_Kim glanced down at the map, and raised a slim eyebrow. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"_

_Will nodded his consent. His dark eyes never wavering from her, as she studied the map._

"_You have left the Industrial Sector rather weak. If they hit there hard enough, the heathens will break through and cut us off. We should shift men from the residency and move them into the Industrial."_

_Kim was taken aback when Will chuckled. The cold, emotionless sound reverberated off the decorated hall._

"_That was the kind of amateurish call I have come to expect from you, Lieutenant." Will chuckled again before continuing, "the Industrial Sector is open to swamp ground, and rough terrain. There is no way that the PAC will be able to move their armour through that. I expect, as a top Reaper, that the most they'll have to deal with is a patrol or two."_

_Kim knew she should've expected something like this from her smug, and arrogant superior, but to disregard such a horrible weakness?_

"_Sir, that's what the French thought about their Maginot Line, in the 20__th__. They thought that it would be impossible for the Germans to flank them by coming around through the Alps."_

"_Enough Lieutenant. The heathens will not risk their heavy machines in such a gamble, but since you feel so strongly about it, I'm placing you in charge of that sector. Take Kilo, and Lima companies. Its a great way for an amateur like you, to build up your confidence."_

"_That's ferociously unfair…"_

"_Enough Lieutenant. Your dismissed, all of you."_

_With that, Kim knew she had no choice but to obey and head for her command._

A burst of fire caused Kim to dive for cover, as a Trident tank's machine gun, fired into the building from which she had been using for her snipping. The sounds of heavy caliber, and cannon fire had quickly drowned out the sounds of the small arms fire of her men.

Du had been right. The swamp had prevented the PAC from moving their vehicles **directly** towards Geta, the heathens, had stolen a march and had moved **around** the obstruction. With in half an hour over a quarter of her four hundred men were either killed or wounded, while the rest were running for cover.

Kim quickly moved back towards the window, and sighted down her scope. The man, who had sprayed her building with machine gun fire, had set his sights on a different target. Quickly she drew a bead, made corrections for the gravity, and fired.

The PAC soldier's head snapped back in a spray of blood, and collapsed in the turret. Smiling in satisfaction, Kim pulled the bolt back, and fired again. A heathen, trying to climb into the now vacant machine-gun turret, was struck in the neck by the shot. It was futile. Kim knew this, but she had to continue the fight anyway. Her men were counting on her to get them through this alive and in one peace.

Her COM-link soundly came to life, a panicked voice at the other end delivered news she so did not want to hear. "Lieutenant, PAC troops have broken through at all areas. We not getting any help here!"

A large explosion suddenly tore a large building, which had been providing supporting fire, apart in a large ball of fire. The building collapsed, in a shower of rubble and fire. Distantly she could hear men screaming "Mjolnir! Mjolnir!"

As she glanced out the window she saw the hulking behemoth slowly turn, aiming its large and deadly rockets straight at her, and her men. "AWWW SHIT! GET OUT, GET OUT OF HERE!" She screamed to the men who had used the buildings cover.

"COME ON, MOVE, ITS AIMING RIGHT FOR US!"

Kim and her men tore down the buildings stairs as fast as they could run. Quickly gathering anyone they could find. A few metres from the door the building shook under the impact of the Mjolnir's Reaper rocket.

As Kim cleared the door she felt a great wave of heat rush over her, as fire gutted the building, causing it to collapse. There was no choice.

"This Lieutenant Kim Possible requesting permission to fall back to Head Quarters. Repeat we need to fall back to Head Quarters."

A desperate voice answered her. A voice that was not Will Du's. "Negative, Negative, Kilo Lima, you are to pull out of Geta. Repeat you are to pull out of Geta. We have been over run, Repeat we have been over run. Get out of there now!"

Something green caught her eye. As Kim turned towards the HQ, she noticed that no longer was the black and red banner of the Republic flying, but a yellow star and wreath on a dark green background. The banner of the Protectorate was flying high and proud. Geta was lost.

* * *

Well I introduced some new characters, hope I managed to capture them alright. I've also settled on the ranking systems, The PAC use the old Soviet Union ranking system, while the Guard use the Commonwealth, as such Lieutenant is pronounced Leftenant. I've also noticed several mistakes and inconsistencies through out the story so I fixed those as well. So read enjoy and don't forget to leave a review. Seriously, we writers love them.


	5. Chapter 4

**The Terran Crusades: **_Chapter 4_

March 8th 2371

Twelve Kilometres outside Port Geta

Port Geta, New Louis

1137 hrs.

The column, composed of over a dozen Tridents, and two dozen armoured personal carriers, rumbled over the, cracked and badly paved highway road. Broken pieces of cement and pavement were crushed underneath the heavy treads and wheels, while the distant shape of Port Geta, and the sounds of battle, drew ever closer.

The PAC soldiers, dealt with the stress and the fear of the upcoming battle in each of their own ways. Some read or reread letters from family members, others looked at photos of wives, husbands, children and other dear ones, while yet other chewed on bits of food while swapping stories, boasts, and insults.

Sergeant Major Ron Stoppable had his own way of dealing with pre-battle fear. He had stretched out as best he could on the crowded tank. His weapon clutched lightly in his hands, his back resting against the heavy plate armour, a lit syntho-cigar dangling from his lips, and relaxed, as the tank rumbled beneath him. To the amazement of Brick, and several others who shared the ride, he seemed to have fallen asleep.

Yori and Felix, however, were not overly surprised. They had seen their friend assume this position, dozens, if not hundreds of times before. Marinating, Ron called it. When stressed Ron would seek out a comfortable nook, cranny, or just about anywhere he could lie down comfortably, then Ron would zone out and relax, until the problem either solved itself, or went away.

"What's Sergeant Major Stoppable doin' ma'am?" The blonde haired, Corporal Flagg asked.

"He is, as he calls it, marinating, Corporal-kun."

Brick turned his head to look back at the prone Sergeant Major. "Marinatin'? It don't look like he's cookin' there ma'am." He stated in obvious confusion. Both Yori and Felix chuckled at the large man.

A sudden bout of viscous cursing took their attention away from the marinating Sergeant, to the tank in front of them, and onto a soldier who was viscously tearing apart a letter. The unexpected commotion even caused Ron to open an eye, in an effort to see what was happening.

"What's wrong with Anders-kun? I've never seen him do that before, he usually treasures those letters."

Felix grimaced, as he shifted uncomfortably. "His wife just sent him the divorce proceedings." Anders had shared the news with Felix only a couple of hours before, "she's taking everything, the kids, the dog, hell the only thing she's leaving him with is the kitchen sink. Apparently he wasn't earning enough leave time, and she met a nice Lieutenant Captain desk jockey, stationed back on their homeworld."

Yori shook her head sadly. Anders was a good man, who loved his wife and children very much. When ever he received a letter, picture or vid, he would share it with whoever was around, before placing it in his kit. Every night Anders would reread them, or look through the photos, as though trying to forget the day, the bloodshed, and, for a little while, return home.

"Doesn't she know we're at war?"

Felix shrugged. He had heard of this before, hell, he had seen it before. Men and women becoming bored, while their spouses and loved ones were away fighting. Sometimes nothing came of it, other times, well, Anders' wife was a prime example. Damn civvies.

"I know for a fact that my girl will never leave me." Felix declared, as he reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a worn photo.

The photo was of a younger Felix, dressed in civvies, with his arm around the waist of an attractive Hispanic woman. Yori took the worn photo, and glanced at it, smiling at the youthful, happy, faces.

"She is very pretty, Renton-kun. Where did you meet?"

Felix smiled as he remembered happier times. "Her name's Zita Florez. We met on the planet Hikolat, in a nightclub; she was on leave from the 419th, and I had two week pass from the base. We just hit it off you know, dancing late into the nigh-"

"Renton, my friend you are so full of shit your eyes are brown!" Both Felix and Yori's heads snapped over to Ron. The grayish-blue smoke from his cigar framed his face, as he stared accusingly at his friend. "That's not the real story on how those two met."

Felix made a pleading jester for Ron to keep his mouth shut, while Yori looked at him curiously. Ron smiled, the opportunity to embarrass his friend, was just too good.

"Really, Stoppable-san? Then what really happened?"

"It was on Retoria, me and Felix here, were scouting ahead, looking for any Terries trying to ambush us as we withdrew. Retoria, as you probably know, is hot, barren wasteland and we had been marching for a few hours, so I decided to call a break. What we didn't know was that Felix's thigh sheath had become loose and undone. So when we sat down on some rocks for a breather, Felix's bayonet handle dug into the rock… ha, ha, ha… and the blade… ha, (snort), ha… cut through the weakened sheath and went straight into Felix's left ass cheek."

Ron couldn't take it any more and burst out laughing. Yori, trying to keep her dignity as an officer, tried to keep her face solemn. Tried, but failed, and soon she too was laughing, Felix looked at both of them with an expression of betrayal.

Ron finally calmed down after a few moments to finish the tale. "So anyway he begs me not to take him to the medical tent in our battalion, he doesn't want anyone to know. So later that night, I took him over to the 419th's medical tent, Zita happened to be the head nurse on duty. So as she sewing this poor bastard up, I tell her the story.

"When she's finished, Zita looks at him and says 'I bet that was the hardest thing shoved into that great ass of yours.' Felix, being the fine gentleman that he is replied. 'Baby, if you want to see something better than my ass and harder than that knife just name the time and place.' To, in my surprises, she replies. 'Just one question, your bunk, or mine?'"

Felix turned beet red, as his superiors, and anyone else listening to the story burst out laughing. Felix shot an angry glare at Ron, who merely smiled as he took another puff on his foul smelling syntho-cigar.

An artillery shell came whistling out of the sky, and suddenly exploded off to the side of the convoy, sending clods of dirt and rocks into the air. More landed to the sides, showering the soldiers in grass and dirt.

The tank behind them, suddenly exploded in a ball of fire, throwing men up into the air like rag dolls. Ron covered his head with his free hand as he ducked, trying to minimize the target.

"Awww crap dude. They got _Shelly_. Seriously that's bogus. Hey, Barkin dude, you better do something about that artillery. Seriously dude, we're sittin' ducks out here. Seriously we are!" Motor Ed shouted over the radio from the second tank.

"I'm on it! I'm on it!" Barkin snapped, "Romeo 1, come in Romeo 1, this is Mike Delta. We are under attack by heavy artillery and tanking causalities. Repeat, We are under attack by heavy artillery and taking causalities. Over."

High above the fighting, Romeo 1 and several of his attack Talons heard the radio broadcast. "This is Romeo 1, we read you Mike Delta. We are moving in to engage. Just keep your heads down."

"Copy that, thanks Romeo 1." Barkin adjusted the frequency of his radio to contact those of his company. "Alright lock and load boys, and girls. You know our objective; escort the tanks and APCs through the markets and into the centre of Geta. Be on the look out for snipers and antitank weaponry! Remember, you are no good to me dead! You with me Mad Dogs?"

"WROOF! WROOF! AHROOOOO!" Came the proud response, as the convoy moved in to the small streets of Geta's market district. Ron followed the men as they leapt off their tanks, and exited their APCs.

Save for the whistling, and explosion of artillery shells, which were coming with fewer and fewer frequency thanks to Romeo 1, the place was quite, dead. No one moved in the streets, the buildings had long been boarded up. The whole city was a ghost town. Slowly the PAC troops moved down the road, their weapon swiveling from side to side, checking, doors, windows, and roof tops. Nothing.

"Move up. Be on guard for anything." Barkin's orders were crisp, clear. Slowly, ever so slowly, the men of the 376th battalion, and the 234th armoured battalion, moved up the road and into the narrow streets of Geta.

A brown, flak armoured soldier leapt from an alley. He shouldered a large grey tube and aimed it at the convoy. With a burst of orange and red, he let fly the projectile, before he was cut down in a merciless hail of bullets.

The missile struck the lead tank, turning it into a burning ball of orange and red. As several soldiers were cut down by the flying bits of shrapnel, the windows and roof tops, suddenly came alive with brown armoured troops.

The veteran troops of the PAC, instantly responded, by diving beneath what cover there was and returned fire. Ron aimed carefully at a window and fired a controlled burst. A brown clad soldier's head snapped back in a spray of blood, as he fell out of view.

"Dude, seriously there is no way we're advancin' until you boys clear out those building! Seriously." Motor Ed's voice crackled to life over the sounds of small arms fire, and the cries of men.

"Right! Soruchi! Take a platoon and clear out the buildings on the left! Lucky, take Renton, and Anders' squads and clear out the buildings on the right! The rest of us will sweep the streets! ITORAAAAAAA!"

The men raised the battle cry as they charged to their objectives. A shooter on the roof stood up to take a shot, only to be cut down by a controlled burst of fire, from Felix's rifle. With practiced ease, Ron pulled a grenade and threw it through a shop's front window. The explosion shredded the defenders as Ron and his men clambered in through the broken window.

"Felix, move up stairs, the rest of us will clear the basement!" Felix nodded as the men broke in half and quickly moved to secure the first building.

Sounds of gunfire could be heard from the upstairs, as Ron moved towards the basement. The barred reinforced door, proved no match for Brick, as he slammed his large body against it. As the door burst open, Ron rushed into the blackened room.

Not being able to see, he missed his step and fell down the stairs. Landing with a heavy thud, and a slight groan, he groped blindly in the dark room for his weapon. A faint _click_, however brought everything into light, as the LCD flickered to life and Ron found himself sitting in a Guard storage depot. Real alcohol. Real coffee. Real cigars. Ron and his men, or more literally Ron, had stumbled into a jackpot, they could make thousands off of this stuff.

"Booyah!" Ron hollered. Quicker than a flash, he had leapt up and grabbed several packets of Cubans, quickly stuffing them into pouches on his vest. He scooped up his weapon, and climbed back up the stairs. The men smiled at their Sergeant, as he joined them.

"No wonder you're called Lucky, Sarge!" Brick grinned, as he glanced at the large stash. The men grinned and nodded in agreement.

"Roof top secure Ron-man." Felix's voice crackled over the radio, "We're ready to move on to the next building."

"Roger Felix. Regroup at the south western wall. Oh and by the way Felix, when this is done, first drinks are on the Guard."

By the time the group of men had regrouped at the designated wall, their faces were plastered with wide grins.

"So where is it?" Felix asked as he and his men joined them, "where's the stash?"

Ron gestured towards the basement with a nod of his head. "But we first got to clear out these buildings."

"How? We step outside we'll get cut down in the cross fire!"

"We go through the walls! Brick, set a charge on the wall, the rest of you prepare to breech!"

As Brick set a large pack of explosives on to the centre of the shops grey wall, the rest of the men jumped, and scrambled behind cover. Brick slowly stepped away from the active charge. With a grunt and heavy thud, Brick leaped over an upturned table. He looked over to Ron who nodded. "Do it."

Brick's large thumb pressed down heavily onto the detonator. The wall erupted in a blast of fire, smoke, and dust. The charges had done their work. A large hole had been blow in the wall, and the PAC troops could hear the Guards' cruses, and blind stumbling.

The sound of rifle fire drew Ron's attention. Anders had rushed into the hole before the smoke had even cleared. Ron watched as Anders fired into the stumbling and cursing Guard, cutting them down, with controlled bursts from his rifle.

The medium sized man then drew his side arm and stepped into the room, quickly followed by the rest of the squads. With neither pity nor mercy, Anders kicked a crawling, injured Guard over on to his back. The Guard raised his hands in surrender pleading. Anders just raised his pistol and shot him in the head.

Ron shook his head in disgust, as he grabbed Anders by his shoulder. "What in the hell do you think your doing? The man was wounded, helpless, he was surrendering!"

Anders, grey eyes narrowed at his superior. "He was a Terrie, and they sure as hell didn't show any mercy for our boys at Foret. I'm just evening the score. Besides they started this war, its all their fault. They've cost me everything."

_Killing for vengeance, doesn't help. If anything it turns you, it corrupts you, until your something else. A monster. It will eat away at you, until you are nothing more then an empty shell._ Brock was right, he was seeing it first hand, though it wasn't the first time, and Ron knew it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

A loud crack of a pistol shot came from behind Anders who stiffened as his eyes widened in surprises. Ron stared, as Senior Sergeant Jacob Anders, slowly toppled to the floor, blood running freely over his back.

Ron looked up to see a wounded Guard shakily aim his pistol straight at him. In that moment Ron knew he was dead. His mind quickly flashed as prayers shot through him, as he brought his rifle up, already knowing it was too late.

A sudden rattling of rifle fire broke Ron from his thoughts, and hasty prayers as the wounded Guard convulsed as bullets slammed into his body, and dropped back down, dead.

"No wonder we call you Lucky." Felix smiled as he lowered his weapon, his smile faded however when he glanced at the prone body of Anders. "Shame about Anders though." Felix said sadly as Ron reached down and pulled off the dog tags.

"Seventh time you've saved my ass there, Felix. I guess I ought to start trying to pay you back. Alright boys, same as before, Felix take up stairs me and the rest of us got this level."

The next five stores were taken in the same manner. The fighting was up close, personal, and bloody. By the time they had cleared the fifth building, Ron's men had suffered over twenty dead, and six wounded, accounting for over half of his men.

"How many more do we have to go Felix?" Ron asked, as he wiped sweat from his brow with a gloved hand.

Before Felix could answer him the radio came to life, and a panicked voice screamed over the sounds of small arms fire and explosions. "This is Delta Company, repeat this is Delta Company! We're pinned down in the market square and are taking heavy causalities! We need assistance! We need… Ack!"

"You hear that Charlie Company? Delta needs assistance! Move in and give them a hand! Let's show these Guard bastards what fire and steel can do!" Came Barkin's orders almost immediately after Delta company was cut off.

"Roger Captain B, we are almost at the square, we have one last building to clear. How about you Yori?" Ron asked over the COM-link

"You are ahead of us, Stoppable-san. We still have two more buildings to clear before we reach the square. You will have to, as you say, 'start the party with out us.' Soruchi, over and out."

"Will start moving the tanks down the street now that the majority of the buildings are secure. Lucky clear that last building and give what ever assistance you can to Delta. Barkin over and out!"

"Someone get a charge on that wall now! Delta's waiting for us!"

The wall again, exploded and collapsed in a ball of fire. The Guard troops on the other side were taken by complete surprise. Their concentration had been solely on putting suppressing fire on the scrambling forms of Delta Company in the square below.

Ron's squeezed a burst into the shop. A Guard, who was taking pot-shots at the PAC troops below, was thrown from his window and into the square. The rest of the Guards were quickly cut down, as they turned to deal with the new threat.

From above their position, Ron could hear the sounds of heavy machine gun fire. He looked to Felix, who nodded at Ron, as he ordered the men to take up firing positions, and take some of the heat off Delta. Those machine guns would come in very handy.

Both Ron and Felix took positions at the bottom of the stairs. Felix quickly pulled a grenade and tossed it up the stairs, and into the hallway. The screams of "GERNADE!" could be heard just before it exploded.

Ron and Felix rushed up the stairs and sighted down the hallway. Several bodies lay strewn across the hall, the victims of the frag's shrapnel. The sounds of machine guns had stopped, only the sounds of small arms fire, from downstairs, and in the square could be heard.

"This feels…" Felix paused as he searched for the right word.

"Trapish?" Ron supplied

"Not a real word, but yeah, let's go with that."

Suddenly the door at the end of the hall burst open, as two Guards fired at the two friends. Ron fired quickly as he ducked into an empty room from the hall. His bullets clipping one of the Guards in the neck. Blood sprayed from the wound as the man collapsed.

Felix unclipped another grenade and threw it into the opened door. The explosion lifted the man from his feet and flung him into the hall. His back shredded from the shrapnel, as blood oozed onto the hard wood floor.

"Upstairs clear. Felix Get on that fifty cal. I'll get on this one lay some fire on those Terries!"

The two machine guns roared as large caliber bullets flew into the cover the Guards were using. Ron's lips formed into a snarl, as he swung the weapon across his field of fire. He watched as the Terries were torn apart by the heavy weapons, as they tried diving for cover.

A Timber Wolf tank decided that it had enough of Ron and Felix's machine gun fire. It's single-barreled turret turned slowly towards them and leveled. "Awww shit! Hit the deck Felix!" Ron screamed as both he and Felix dived to the ground.

A large explosion tore suddenly tore apart the Timber Wolf Tank, as the ten, late, but very welcomed, Tridents poured into the smoked filled square. The Guard had enough, the machine gun fire had torn their men apart and now their tank was a smoking ruin. They dropped their weapons and slowly put up their hands in surrender.

But the PAC wouldn't have it. As the Guard threw down their weapons, the men of the 376th opened fired again. Both Felix and Ron watched in disgust as helpless men were butchered.

"Disgusting, isn't?"

Felix and Ron turned to see Captain Barkin looking at them. His face streaked with smoke, dust, and sweat. His eyes holding nothing but contempt as the Guard were killed mercilessly.

"Isn't there anything you can do sir?" Ron asked, feeling sick to his stomach.

Barkin shook his head. "I wish there was, but Major Yaleson is in charge. And right now he's out their helping them." He shook his head sadly, "Come on, the Industrial Sector has already fallen we got to get ready for the push."

Both of his subordinates saluted and turned to follow, when Felix suddenly grunted and collapsed. The faint sound of a sniper rifle just barley heard over the ensuring slaughter below them.

"SNIPER! GET DOWN!" Barkin roared, as both he and Ron hit the dirt.

Ron turned and saw the blossoming blood starting to leek from his friend back. "FELIX! NOOO! DAMNIT NOOO!"

* * *

Now how's that for a cliffy! Mwhahahahahaha! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always please review, and don't forget to vote for your favourites the Fannies! Remember every vote counts.


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